How do I love thee?
by cuckoo clover
Summary: "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways./I love thee to the depth and breadth and height./My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight./For the ends of being and ideal grace." - Elizabeth Barrett Browning. A collection of poems and drabbles for EngSpa week 2018.
1. Psithurism

_**Eyyy guess who tried to write with the iambic pentameter :D I'm trying to do something a little different with EngSpa week this year with a poem/drabble for each day ^^**_

* * *

The rustling leaves called psithurism.

For Arthur, 'twas the soothing songs of oak.  
Unreachable, unspoilt by human hands.  
An aubade of the fae inside the woods.  
The memories of napping in the glades.  
The forest singing him a lullaby.  
For Arthur, it was home.

Antonio, meanwhile, think of olives, oranges.  
The days of reaping crops, the zing of citrus, chatter simmering in the dusky air. A basket full of olives in one hand,  
a forehead of cool sweat that's wiped away,  
a smile that stays upon his face.  
because he knows tonight, they'll feast like kings.  
In his eyes, it was home.

—-

A thousand years or two had passed since then.  
As duty calls, their past they've put aside.  
However, habits of childhood still stay.  
When Arthur sleeps, the window pane is opened,  
For listening the evening's serenade.  
Antonio dreams of fragrant orange blossoms,  
as well as salty olives on his tongue.  
For him, there's nothing else that sings so sweet.  
For him, not all the gold is worth as much.

For memories reminds us of the simpler times.

The rustling leaves called psithurism.


	2. Promenade on a snowy day

_**Based on prompt #31 on the tumblr Engspaweek blog**_

* * *

Snow.

Sleepy, freezing.

Drifting, shivering, huddling.

Complaining, muttering, joking, laughing.

Chatting, strolling, hand holding.

Cozy, comfortable.

Warmth.


	3. Language!

_**I heard a somewhere that Spaniards swear a lot, so ye**_

* * *

Now, Arthur had to admit, one of the hardest thing about being a single dad was to stop himself from swearing. The day the teacher phoned him when Alfred called someone a _stupid fucking cunt_ almost gave him a heart attack. (Definitely picked up from a road rage incident.)

So he made a large effort not to swear as much. Putting a dollar into the dollar jar, imagining his conservative mother in front of him, replacing the swears with mundane words, all sorts of stuff.

And since he started dating Antonio, who also had a kid Alfred's age, the efforts doubled, much to his dismay.

Though to his relief, one night, when Antonio promised Arthur that he will teach Arthur how to cook proper food rather than eat "microwaved silicone" (what was wrong with microwaved food? It wasn't like they were feasting on poison), he found out that Antonio also swore a lot.

"¡AY, JODER!" Antonio screamed as a pan crashed onto his bare foot. Arthur raised an eyebrow as Antonio clamped his mouth shut, cutting off the scream. Antonio darted his eyes to the living room, where Alfred and Lovino played a PlayStation game, the furious tapping of the controllers' buttons audible from the silence. Arthur realised why.

Joder.

Didn't that mean fuck in Spanish?

"¡JODER!" Lovino's unmistakable voice repeated in cue when a video game character on the TV died. Arthur stared at the living room as his jaw dropped.

"Hey! Lovino, you're not supposed to say that! That word's not for kids!"

"But you just said it! Oh, and that means you'll have to buy me ice cream tomorrow! Remember?" A long, defeated sigh came out of Antonio as he deflated. He stood up straight as he slicked back his hair.

"Ay mi, I apologise for that. Lovino's a nice kid, I swear!" Antonio protested. He looked to the side as his curls moved back into place. "I swear too much, that's all." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck.

"Nah, don't fret, I have the same problem." Antonio looked up.

"What?"

"Hey dad, Toni, when's the food ready? I'm fucking hungry!" Alfred called, and Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Alfred, that's it, no video games for the rest of the week." A defeated groan came from Alfred. "After tonight." Alfred cheered a _fudge yeah_ before he picked up his controller.

Now it was Antonio's turn to raise an eyebrow. Arthur shrugged.

"Well, at least he's learning. And… at least we both have the same swearing problem." But to be honest, Antonio's similar excessive cussing reminded him that at least they've got something to fix together. With the tension now gone, they realised the comedy of their situation, and laughed.

After Arthur fetched the first aid kit for Toni's foot, they ordered pizza, and the rest of the evening went by smoothly.


	4. Sick day

_**Prompt #20**_

 _ **VERY LATE, APOLOGIES**_

* * *

Antonio had to be on sick leave after he caught a cold the other day. So far, it had been the second day, and he stayed bedridden, sick as a dog.

The day so far had been a ritual of sneezing before dashing to the toilet to throw up. As Antonio dragged himself back to the toilet to hurl, he thought to himself that thank god Arthur will be here soon.

Arthur arrived with a tote bag in one hand, and pulled out a piping hot thermos. Red robins on tree branches decorated the beige cylinder, giving a cozy feel to it.

"Here, I made some ginger tea." Arthur unscrewed the lid, and poured some of the tea into the cup. "It's in a thermos, so it won't cool down as quickly. I know it's not the most glamorous way to drink tea, so I got one of my thermos with the little robins on it."

Antonio raised an eyebrow. As Arthur handed him the cup, he sipped the warm concoction, the spicy ginger warming his insides. with a hint of honey and even some zesty orange in it.

"Ooh, there's orange in it."

"Look, I know that usually people put lemon into teas, but you like oranges, so I figured…" Arthur continued to talk, but the words mushed up into a string of vowels, something more about the tea and what he put. Arthur stressed himself too much, but each time Antonio wanted to mention that, Arthur would continue on about whether he should've brung in some cookies or cake from the local bakery, too, or brung some movies to watch. "Also, I brought a hot water bottle. In case it gets too cold." On cue, Arthur pulled out a hot water bottle from the totes bag. Antonio was moved. How thoughtful, he thought of everything!

"Aww, Arturo, you're too thoughtful! Here," Antonio stretched his arms out and wrapped them around Arthur's neck.

"Shit! Toni, you'regonnatransferyourcoldtome- _HMPH_!"

Alas, Arthur, too, caught a cold the next day.


	5. A home of melting echoes

_**Prompt #1, hiraeth, and Katherine and Henry's marriage**_

 _ **Context: a diplomatic meeting after Mary, Queen of Scots' excecution**_

 _ **Angst! :D**_

* * *

Adiós, Arthur.  
Horrible shattering china stabbed the air.  
His own shaky breathing followed.  
To the hardwood floor his knees met.  
Knock turned. For his lover were only echoes.

Hiraeth- a home of melting echoes.  
Melting, like a bell's last gasp.  
The days of Henry and Katherine were gone.  
And he hoped his lover knows as well.

But he brought up:  
"Do you remember the days of Katherine and Henry?"  
A quiet whisper, a glance up.  
"Yes. I remember the wedding bells."

He hoped to put the past behind them.  
Nevermore were Katherine or Henry's marriage.  
For his country, his queen, he must move onwards.

Yet Spain had dared to argue:  
"Wouldn't a rose by any other name smell as sweet?"  
But, see.  
Roses bear thorns that spills one's priceless blood.  
The stars, they would align if we were pitied.

And Philip had instructed him, he knew, like a pawn.  
A meeting between two nations, isn't it obvious?  
Spain was Philip's pawn, transparent and thinner than glass.

"Mary is dead," he fought back.  
"My queen is Elizabeth.  
"How foolish, to think you could win my love,  
"And appeal to my humanity for your desires!"

What once was sun erupted into pyromania.  
What once was bold is bitter stubbornness.  
What he knew as his lover is the kingdom of Spain.  
Spars, tolling, preaching in the ear.  
Tears, rage filled rolling down.

Until.  
Adiós, Arthur.

Horrible shattering china stabbed the air.  
His own shaky breathing followed.  
To the hardwood floor his knees met.  
Knock turned, for his lover were only echoes.

Playful Romanesca chords.  
Savoury paella.  
Nightlong passions.  
No liquor made him drunk of love like this.

Only echoes.

Echoes.

His knees knock turned, he straightened them.  
Elizabeth was waiting, to hear the aftermath.  
Calling for the maid to clean the mess, he knew.  
That the incoming war had begun.

Hiraeth- a home of melting echoes.  
Melting, like a bell's last gasp.  
The days of Henry and Katherine were gone.  
His lover, too, he knew, were only echoes.

Farewell, Antonio.

* * *

 _ **Crud, too much angst D:**_

 _ **Romanesca chords- the tune of Greensleeves is written based on Spanish Romanesca chords. It was believed to have been written by Henry VIII, but the chords from Spain hadn't been introduced to the UK at the time. I headcanon that Spain wrote Greensleeves for England ;D**_

 _ **Wouldn't a rose by any other name smell as sweet?- an alteration of the famous line spoken in**_ **Romeo and Juliet.** _ **Spain is trying to woo back England using the words of Shakespeare, but England is pissed because 1: while Romeo and Juliet were lovesick teenagers who had died and caused the death of 3 others due to mania, despite common views of it as a tale of romance, and 2: the alteration breaks the iambic pentameter, showing how much Antonio doesn't understand Shakespeare's plays, and quoted one of his most famous plays**_

 _ **Not my best work, soz**_


	6. I am here

_**Prompt #5: I am here**_

 _ **This was originally a haiku, but I decided that it was too short. Sooo, haiku sonnet! :D**_

 _ **This was meant to be an au where Toni died, according to the pic, but this poem's free to interpretation**_

* * *

Album photographs.

Darling, I am always here.

We're gathering dust.

Wiping off the dust.

A year, or two, maybe three?

Memories fail.

Don't cry now, my love.

I know solitude is hard.

I too miss your touch.

Our happy days, now

Fleeting, haunting memories.

For that, I'm sorry.

Restless winds sweeping, but like

Rocks, the dust sits still.


	7. The old Miller's pub

**_Prompt #13_**

* * *

The Miller's pub.

Collapsing. Old. Like him.

This place had seen better days. Woodworm ridden beams, faces of creased paper, cool evening drifts.

Liquid courage spreading, chatter bubbling.

A black stout in his hand, a smoking fag in another.

The air. Musty. Dusty, tickling his nostril. His eye twitched and watered. He sipped the black potion.

His tongue embraced the tart taste. It bubbled down his throat, giggling, boiling. A glass of fireworks that bursts in the belly and sets the organs on fire.

Overstuffed, a box of abandoned men.

Collapsing. Old. Like him.

His own, though sunken, were fresh. A scoff. Only he had lived 10 folds.

Banter. Jokes. Dares. Yet apart from his own, secluded world. So loud, yet so quiet.

The bell's light jingle sliced to his ear. He looked.

It's Spain.

Approaching a stool next to him, he sat, and ordered a sherry.

Connection through silence. Sipping fireworks.

For they knew each other far longer than what these other gentlemen have. They saw each other rise, like Icarus to the sun. They saw each other rule, claiming nothing could stop them. And they fell into the sea, a blizzard of feathers, salt, and wax.

So now they sip liquor in the Old Miller's pub.

Collapsing. Old. Like them.

* * *

 _ **And… that concludes EngSpaWeek 2018! I had a lot of fun writing these poems and drabbles! Thank you for reading! (:**_


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